Leaving the elf to her grim task, Valkar strode into the dark tunnel, the heavy silence pressing in on him. The sounds from behind—the soft, choked-off sob, followed by a brief, sharp gasp—reached him, but he did not react. He had made his choice, and she had made hers. It was the way of things.
But the feeling lingered. An unfamiliar prickle beneath his skin. It was not the curse's fire, nor the memory of battle-rage. It was... uncomfortable. Like a stone in his boot. He had offered a clean solution, a mercy. She had chosen the harder path, the path of sentiment. And for some reason, he had allowed it.
"Not my problem."
He shook his massive head, trying to dislodge the thought. The curse was the problem. The ticking clock was the problem. The two females he now carried as a responsibility were the problem. Not the feelings of an elf over other, broken elves.
He focused on the tunnel ahead. The air was different here. Cleaner in a way.
Curious, Valkar pressed on.
The tunnel widened, the ceiling rose, and the floor became smoother, almost as if it had been deliberately carved. The faint light of the fungi gave way to a softer, bluish luminescence that seemed to emanate from the very walls themselves.
The tunnel ended with a wide opening, and Valkar stepped through.
He found himself in a massive, circular chamber. The floor was a dark, reflective obsidian, and in the center was a crude throne made from bones and what looked like petrified wood.
The throne was empty, with no sign of any goblin king or something like that.
Valkar scanned the area. He didn't let his guard down, but he didn't find anything.
But as he was about to turn back, his eyes caught something shiny at the base of the bone throne. It was half-buried in dust and grime, but even in the dim blue light, it held a dull gleam that promised more.
He walked toward it, his heavy boots crunching on the debris-strewn floor. He knelt, the joints of his knees protesting, and brushed aside the dirt with a massive hand.
It was a gauntlet. Made not of bone or leather, but of some kind of dark, interlocking metal plates. Each segment was intricately carved with spiraling patterns that seemed to shift and writhe in the gloom. It was a masterwork of craftsmanship, alien and beautiful in its deadly design. There was no rust, no sign of age. It was as perfect as the day it was forged.
"Definitely not goblin craft."
He picked it up. It was heavy, but balanced perfectly, the inner padding still surprisingly supple against his skin. It was sized for a large being, perhaps a giant or an ogre, but as he slipped it over his right hand, the metal plates shifted with a soft whisper. They contracted, tightening around his forearm and knuckles until it fit as if it had been made for him. The feeling was not cold, but a faint, thrumming warmth that spread up his arm.
Ding!
[You have equipped: Void-Forged Gauntlet]
[Item Type: Unique Armguard]
[Effect 1: Soul Siphon - 5% of damage dealt to living targets is returned to you as health.]
[Effect 2: Grasp of the Abyss - Upon command, the gauntlet can release a short-range gravitational pulse, pulling targets within 10 meters towards you. Cooldown: 2 minutes.]
[Effect 3: ??? - Locked. Requires specific conditions to unlock.]
Valkar's amber eyes widened. A system window. For an item. His new mind, the one that had been quietly categorizing and processing this new reality, filed this information away with startling speed.
"Void-Forged..." he murmured, the words feeling alien on his tongue. He flexed the fingers of the gauntleted hand. The metal plates moved with silent, fluid grace. "A great find."
He tested it, focusing on the second ability.
"Grasp of the Abyss."
A wave of invisible force erupted from the gauntlet. The nearest rock, the size of a goblin's head, skittered across the obsidian floor and clattered against his armored boot. A pile of bones flew towards him, clattering harmlessly against his leg.
Power. Solid, tangible power.
"Good!" A grim smile touched his lips. This was better than a rusty sword. Better than a simple bone axe. This was the kind of tool that could turn the tide if used correctly.
"Maybe I could find more?"
Valkar didn't ask how this gauntlet got here. The past was irrelevant. The real question was if there was more. He searched the area, his amber eyes scanning every shadow, every pile of refuse. The throne yielded nothing but old bones and dust. The walls were solid stone. The floor was clean, save for the gore he had just dragged in.
So he started digging in the same spot where he found the gauntlet, and he hit something. A hard, metallic sound.
His heart beat a little faster. He cleared away more dirt.
Unfortunately.
"Eh?"
It wasn't another piece of armor. It was a large collection of cooking equipment, made from some kind of metal. Pots, pans, skewers, even a large, blackened cauldron.
"Who leaves a perfectly good gauntlet next to... this?" he grumbled, baffled. The juxtaposition was jarring. A weapon of power next to tools for a goblin feast. It made no sense.
Valkar knew what these things were made for; he saw them before inside the orc chief's tent.
Sometimes the orc scouts would find useful things while out raiding, but almost, if not everything of value would be reserved for the chief, especially something as useful as metal-made tools or weapons.
The goblins might have stolen it from the unlucky travelers who end up getting teleported here into the forgotten lands where every creature is at least ten times stronger than its original counterpart.
Anyway, Valkar spent a few minutes searching for useful items, but he didn't find anything besides two animal hides that weren't completely rotten yet.
He put everything in his new inventory, a power that he really liked so much that he was barely able to resist playing with it again.
"Now then, I think I wasted enough here."
Returning the way he came, he stepped back into the tunnel, the faint sounds of that blonde elf's weeping a somber guide. He found Sylvana kneeling by the four bodies, her shoulders slumped, the bloody dagger resting on the ground beside her. The princess stood a few feet away, her face buried in her hands, her small frame wracked with shudders.
She had done it. She had given them the mercy he had offered, but the act had cost her something.
Sylvana looked up as he approached, her purple eyes vacant, the fire in them dimmed to a dying ember. She saw him, the orc, the monster, the… mate she had bargained for, and a fresh wave of revulsion warred with the hollow ache of exhaustion. But beneath it all, a grudging, unwelcome acknowledgement remained. He had left the choice to her.
Valkar said nothing. There was nothing to say. He simply stood there, a green mountain in a tomb of grief, the obsidian gauntlet on his right hand absorbing the light, making it seem like a piece of the night itself had latched onto his arm.
"Time to leave this place," he said, voice a low growl that cut through the oppressive silence.
Sylvana's jaw tightened. She pushed herself to her feet, a task that seemed to require all her remaining strength. Her wounded leg buckled, and she stumbled, catching herself on the cavern wall. The princess was at her side in an instant, her small hands trying to offer support that was far too weak to be of any use.
"I can't..." Sylvana whispered, the admission tasting like defeat. "My leg... it's too much."
Valkar's amber eyes flickered down to the gash. It was a nasty wound, caked with dried blood and filth, the edges already puffy and inflamed. He had seen similar wounds on orcs who had ignored a cut and later lost the limb to the creeping rot.
"The wound must be cleaned." He stated it as a fact, not an offer of care.
Sylvana flinched away from his gaze.
"It's fine."
"It is not fine." He took a step closer, the gauntleted hand raising slightly. The princess let out a frightened squeak and scurried back. "It will fester. You will be unable to walk. Then you are useless to me."
His words were a slap, harsh and brutal, but they were also true. Useless. If she became useless, his deal would be void. She would die. The princess would die. Her mind, a whirlwind of grief and horror, seized on this one, ugly anchor of logic.
"Then what do you suggest?" she asked, her voice laced with venom. "You have no healing supplies."
"There is a cave nearby," he said, ignoring her tone. "With clean water and herbs that grow near the entrance."
He didn't wait for her agreement. Without another word, he reached down, hooked one massive arm under her knees, the other behind her back, and lifted her as if she weighed nothing.
Sylvana's world spun. A gasp tore from her throat as she was hoisted into the air, her body pressed against the hard, unyielding wall of his chest. The scent of him, a mix of iron, sweat, and blood, filled her senses.
She froze, every muscle tensing, her breath catching in her chest. It was a violation, an intimacy more terrifying than any goblin's leer. She was a warrior, a shield maiden. She was not supposed to be carried. To be so utterly powerless, her body at the mercy of this monster… it was a new kind of horror.
"Let me go!" she finally managed to gasp out, her struggles weak and pathetic against his iron grip.
"Be still," Valkar rumbled, his voice vibrating through her entire body. He then turned to the princess. "You too."
"Eh?" the princess flinched, her tear-streaked face a mask of confusion.
Valkar dropped to one knee, bringing himself closer to the terrified girl.
"Come," he commanded, not unkindly, but with the absolute certainty of one who expected to be obeyed. "Hop on my back."
The princess stared at him, her mind a blank slate of fear. His back was a broad, green landscape of muscle, still slick with the blood of his enemies. The thought of touching it, of being that close to him, was repulsive.
"Now!" He insisted, his amber eyes glowing faintly. "Or you can stay here. With the bodies."
"Y-yes," the princess stammered. For a moment, she forgot he was an orc and acted like she was a child being scolded by her father. Only after the princess timidly climbed onto Valkar's broad back, her thin arms wrapping hesitantly around his thick neck, did she realize what she had done.
She was touching an orc. Voluntarily.
"Hold on tight."